Fall like Dominoes
by Tadpole24
Summary: It's is about evaluating all the ways you didn't die, all the ways you lived. Caskett, breaking down walls. Post Linchpin.
1. Chapter 1

**I vowed to never do a multi-chap fic again. But here we are…at the beginning. I have most chapters mapped out and it won't be too long, so expect regular updates. Set after Linchpin, but before Once Upon a Crime.**

**Thank you, as always, to the beautiful eitoph, who manages to find time even in the busiest of times for some great beta work. You're a legend :)**

**Disclaimer: If I had a dollar for every time I said 'I don't own Castle' I'd be quite rich. Maybe even rich enough to buy Castle...but no one gives me these magical dollars. **

..:::..

Fall like Dominoes

..:::..

_The meaning of life is to live,  
>just live…<em>

..:::..

Death is an imminent and inevitable constant, one thing that the entire population of the world has in common. It's a link, a bond of mankind, a vulnerability and a strength all at once. We will die. That much is sure, and it need not be morbid and haunting. Like most things in life, a journey must take place to reach it. Death is about getting to that final place and wondering how you were the lucky soul to have come this far.

It's about evaluating all the ways you didn't die, all the ways you lived.

..:::..

It's amazing really, how often they cheat death. He's spoken to her before about the running tally he's got on their respective rescues of each other, the conversation serving as a reminder of their very fragile being. However, lately it hasn't been the freezer, or the dirty bomb, or even the water filled car sinking to the bottom of the Hudson that has plagued his nightmares. Any one of those moments has the ability to catch him off guard and take his breath away with hurt, but lately something much more striking and powerful has been invading his night time escape.

The sound of her agonising scream.

The strangled, "NO!" before Sophia fell to the ground, floored by a gunshot, her desperation for his life cascading out of her on one solid breath.

As close as they have come to death in the past, it's never been as cut and dry as when Beckett was shot in the cemetery. He knows the pain of seeing the life drain from someone you love, he knows his own tortured cries from that day and he hears them echoed in his partner's one syllable, reverberating in the empty, white parking lot. He hears her torture, her anguish and knows how she feels because he has felt it too. He hurts with her hurt.

It's that same stomach rolling, head spinning realisation that maybe, just maybe, tomorrow you will be without a partner.

"_NO!"_

And that one moment in time repeats in his dreams constantly. A warning bell in his head telling him that next time they may not be so lucky, that next time might be the day they can't cheat death anymore.

..:::..

It's a moment, just a brief moment in the greater scheme of things, a millisecond on an ever growing timeline. Barely a blip on any radar. And yet, that startling cry has captured his thoughts, his dreams, his very being for days.

He's called her twice already tonight, lame excuses about writing notes for Nikki Heat being his cover. But he knows she can see right through it. At any rate, when he wakes at 2am feeling vulnerable and alone, his phone alerts him to the fact that Beckett is at the top of his call logs and really, at two in the morning it's not hard to find meaning in everything.

So with fate on his mind, mixing with the disturbing sound of the scene playing over and over in his head, he calls his partner.

"Beckett." Her voice is sleep addled, but alert. He concludes that she mustn't have checked her caller ID, expecting a case, even when she's not on call.

"Kate, it's me." He's not sure why he's whispering, he's the only one home tonight.

"Castle?" All traces of sleep gone from her voice.

"Yeah. Hi."

She breathes into the phone, allowing herself to calm down from the startle of her phone ringing so early on a day off, "Hey. Everything okay?"

And suddenly he has nothing. No witty answer, no warm anecdote, just the truth and he's not even sure she's ready to hear that.

"Castle?" she prompts. Not impatient, but insistent.

And he wonders when it flipped around, when it became her waiting on him. The brief thought brings him back to the phone call, "Sorry for waking you, Kate."

She frowns in confusion at the pain hidden in his voice, "It's fine."

But he's already hung up.

..:::..

It's another thing they don't talk about…another moment of insignificance that wouldn't even come close to being an inconvenience for them to talk about. And yet, they don't. Can't.

Dr. Burke asks her to broach the subject with him and she tries, she really does try. Over Chinese take-out in the conference room of the 12th, she mentions that night he called, a hint of curiosity leaking into her well-crafted excuse for bringing it up.

He looks at her and she recognises the fear in his eyes. He's not ready to talk about it, just as she isn't ready to talk about certain things that she remembers. She nods her head, spooning rice into her mouth and he thanks her.

"Just not today, okay?"

She supposes that it's something that he's even acknowledging it.

..:::..

The problem is that he knows he's going to hurt her.

That much is evident.

Her pain filled cry is enough for him to know she cares for him.

And he is going to hurt her with his information.

It's the linchpin in their relationship; the one small moment that he chose to go behind her back on something so dear to her. Once she knows about it the dominoes will start their terrible fall towards the end of them. And so he holds back, he listens to her screams in his sleep and he doesn't call her. He pulls away from her a little more each day, withdrawing from the precinct bit by bit.

Her morning coffee becomes her weekly coffee and soon she hasn't seen him in an entire week. She wonders about it and calls him to ask, confused by his actions.

As she's getting better, becoming more, he's shrinking away, hiding. Enveloping himself in a story that she's not able to, a story that he has asked her to walk away from.

But putting himself in danger is pulling her out of it and really, the importance is in keeping her safe. He has to worry about that more than worrying about his feelings for her. He's got to keep her safe from the faceless men who will kill her for poking around, and safe from the pain of losing him, someone she loves, to those same faceless men.

Because how could she love him if he's not around for her to love?

He sits at his desk day after day, punching out notes for the newest Nikki Heat and working tirelessly through the night on Johanna Beckett's murder. He notices his phone light up, Kate's face beckoning him to answer.

In a small, yet bold move, he ignores the phone call and walks away.

..:::..

**Would love your thoughts. Thanks :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't think I've ever seen so many story alerts. Thank you all so much, it's exciting for me to know you want to know what happens. As always, any feedback is appreciated too :) And I love every single one of your reviews :)**

**Thanks to eitoph, who is the beta extraordinaire, for making this chapter better. **

**Enjoy. **

..:::..

Chapter Two

..:::..

It's early when he wakes up, too early even for the sun to have risen. A glance at his watch tells him it's just past 4am and another glance around the room tells him he fell asleep at his desk, head resting against his laptop's keyboard, typing out a steady stream of letters with no meaning.

He groans and stretches out a kink in his neck, standing and stumbling towards his bedroom, wondering if he can get enough sleep before his publishing meeting that morning, or whether he should just shower now and be done with the sleep.

A flashing light on his phone alerts him to a message and as he steps out of his clothes, heading for his bathroom, he unlocks his phone, presses the keys to access his voicemail and listens as his partner's voice floats to him through the phone for the first time in weeks.

"Castle, hey, it's Kate…which you probably know. Uh, it's late, so you're probably asleep, but there's this case…it's your type of thing and we're stuck. Could really use your insight. Anyway, let me know if you're coming in." He expects more, but her voice awkwardly trails off and he hears her hang up.

He stands at the door to his shower, taps turned on, room filling with steam, and listens to her message again and again; the hitch in her voice, the sad edge to it all, the little things that she's trying to hide, but that her voice is betraying. He lets his back rest against the cool tile of the wall outside his shower and slides to the floor. On one side of him he listens to the calming sound of the water running down the drain, on the other he listens to Kate falling apart.

Sleep is not even close to being an option now.

..:::..

He doesn't call.

She checks her phone every ten minutes for the whole day, but he doesn't call, he doesn't text, he doesn't email her. She swallows the emotions that well up in her as she stares ahead at the murder board, it's not like she was expecting him to suddenly change his mind and make contact, but some acknowledgement would be nice.

She contemplates just showing up at his loft. It wouldn't be difficult to knock on his door and say hi, but she knows that he would find it offensive. When she needed space, he gave it. He wasn't happy about it, but he had bitten his tongue and let her have the time she needed to get her head around everything.

Her phone rings and she jumps, scrambling to answer it, "Beckett."

"It's Espo."

She looks around, confused and sees her fellow detectives looking back at her from their desks; she hangs up, "What was that about?"

Esposito takes her in with a knowing look, "We've been calling out to you for a solid five minutes. Thought we might get through to you if we phoned."

Ryan pitches in, "You've been holding that thing with a death grip all night."

She looks down at her phone, placing it on the desk next to her, "Sorry boys, in my own world. What's up? You got something?"

"Yeah," Esposito answers, "A desire to get some sleep."

"It's close to 11; we're calling it a night." Ryan adds, asking whether she'll be heading home too, without really asking. She'll never admit it, but she appreciates the whole big brother thing her fellow detectives do. She likes to know that someone always has her back.

Beckett looks back at the murder board, the pictures and writing strewn everywhere. First thing in the morning she's going to write it all out again from the start and try to find the missing link in the mess. But that'll be tomorrow, "Guess it'll all be here in the morning." She stands with the boys and they walk out of the precinct together.

She checks her phone four times on the elevator ride down.

..:::..

He ponders the voicemail all day. He can hear how much she misses him in the message (though she would never admit it) and that hurts him. It makes him feel awful for pulling away from her, but he knows that it might be what they both need in the long run.

He also knows that she'd never joke about a case though, and so on a cool Thursday morning, close to 3am, he drives to the 12th precinct and wanders up to the homicide bullpen.

There are a few detectives meandering around; the unlucky souls of the night shift. No one pays any careful attention to him, though. He's a long ago accepted permanent fixture of the precinct.

The carefully woven story of the murder of a young woman named Bella Thompson is written across the whiteboard in varying styles of writing. He can easily pick out her distinct lettering and follows the case from start up until the point they've found themselves stuck at. He chuckles to himself as he sees the gaping hole they've left untouched and begins to connect the dots in his theatrical way.

Without access to their secure computer network he's unable to look up the vital information, but he leaves careful notes on Beckett's desk explaining his theory in true literary form.

It feels good to be back in the precinct, he realises. The gentle hum of the place is comforting and allows him to feel close to Beckett without being too close. He sits in her seat for a moment and spins around, taking everything in. She likes to sit a little taller than him and so her seat is positioned to look down at his. He knows it's not about a power play, but it allows her to feel in control. It allows her to look at the world from a different perspective.

He only hopes that when it comes down to it, she'll see his behaviour and his actions from a different perspective. He still has those screams stuck in his head, reminding him of the fragility of their situation. He only wants to make her pain stop, he wonders if she'll see that.

He surveys the room once more, taking in the place that has become his second home for the past three years. Seeing the clocks reaching close to 6am, he stands to leave, one last favour in mind.

..:::..

Kate takes her seat with a huff. She's been thinking about the case all night and about Castle too. She won't deny it in her own mind. To some, her early hour start might seem obsessive, but to her it's just being thorough, she has a lot of data to go through today.

As she looks across her desk she sees a pile of paper that wasn't there the night before. She picks it up, running her eyes across the information Castle has left her, spelled out in his bold letters. A smile tugs at her lips as she looks further around her desk and sees a coffee laid out for her. He knows her better than she knows herself, she sometimes thinks.

She picks up the coffee cup, letting it warm her hands and wonders how long ago he left it, wonders if he's coming back, and when.

As she takes that first sip, a quiet moan escapes her and the thoughts going round and round in her mind quieten. It's the best coffee she's had in weeks.

..:::..


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you all again, for your wonderful comments and to all of you who have put me on alert. You're all amazing. Please feel free to continue being amazing and making my day ;) **

**And, as always, eitoph, you are a delight to work with and thank you for all your help :)**

**Enjoy.**

..:::..

Chapter Three

..:::..

It starts like it always does.

His fingers trail across her cheek, her breath coming out in bursts, warming his hand. His nose bumps against hers, tilting her head back against his grip, bringing her lips closer to his.

The anticipation builds and burns before they kiss, their mouths gliding together, heated, passionate. Every time it's the same. His arms reach around her, hands nudging her skin, fiery paths of welcome comfort coming with each stroke across her back, her arms, her chest.

She moans. Every _single_ time.

He catches her sweet noises, drowns them in his own, the feeling of her always overwhelming as his hands rake over her body, tugging at her shirt, pulling at the belt holding her trousers up. They fall against the bed in a frenzied tumble as he lets his lips wander her neck, her mouth blowing hot puffs of air against his ear.

And then a noise from behind them startles him. It's the _click, click, click_ of a gun's hammer being cocked, the crisp sound so different from the smooth moans coming from his partner.

He turns, but the gun is already at his temple, the cool metal is startlingly real, even for a dream. His eyes flick back to Beckett, except that now they're lying in a cool white parking lot. Her shirt is still crumpled up, her cheeks flushed from their enthusiasm in his bed earlier and the contrast confuses him. She looks confused too, but before he has time to even let that register, there is a deafening scream, "NO!"

Castle sits up in his bed, pushing his covers off him, feeling hot, suffocated and frustrated. The dreams are as vivid as the day they started. He thought there might be some reprieve from them, but nothing has helped him to banish the darkness of his nightmares.

He staggers out of bed, rubbing a hand over his face, and pads through his apartment to the front door to pick up the morning paper. What he finds there is something else entirely.

It's nothing big or overstated; it's perfectly Beckett in its own way. He holds his door open with one hand and reaches to pick up the small red box with the other. The newspaper lies forgotten outside as he brings the little present inside with him, sitting it on the kitchen bench, contemplating the implications of opening it.

It seems like only yesterday that he was telling Beckett about Pandora's Box and what could be unleashed with one careless move. The remark seems oddly appropriate now.

They've been dropping subtle hints off to each other for the past week, starting with her coffee. She followed up with a small thank you note telling him that he'd been instrumental in solving the case and a plastic police badge; just something light, something he could laugh at. He'd returned the gesture, leaving a post-it note on her apartment door, the word 'Always' facing her on her way home after a long day at work. Just little simple things to remind the other that they are still there. Beckett needed time, Castle needs space, but they still maintain their friendship with these gestures.

But this box, this tiny little red box holds meaning and importance. He rolls it around in his hands; it's light, and nothing shifts inside of it, so he assumes it is a note, just like the other times. But why would she wrap it up?

He toys with the lid, peering into the darkness of the box.

"What's that?"

He shuts the lid as his daughter steps in front of him, "Uh, nothing, Sweetie." He takes in Alexis' attire and finds an appropriate way to change the subject, "Where are you off to?"

Alexis grabs an apple from the fruit bowl and does a twirl, her new black skirt kicking out softly around her legs, "Spending the day with JD. Do I look okay?"

Castle stands, leaving the red box sitting at the table and gives his daughter a hug, "You look gorgeous."

Alexis smiles, "Thank you, dad. I'll be home later tonight; JD has this whole thing planned."

He nods and accepts the kiss to the cheek that she offers, "Have a fun time."

After he closes the door he bypasses the kitchen on his way back to his bedroom.

The red box stays there, unopened but not forgotten.

..:::..

It's Martha who brings it to him. He's sitting at his desk, headphones in, listening to audio notes he's taken while on case in the last year, typing out the ones relevant to the storyline of his next Nikki Heat novel. His mother has an apron on and is holding a feather duster, which can only mean she has company on the way, because she would never clean just for the sake of it.

She places the box next to his keyboard and mutters about how he is always leaving his things lying around. He pulls out his headphones and goes to make a remark about how she is under _his_ roof, but she's already out of earshot, dusting down the various pictures that adorn the walls.

The box stares at him from the desk and he knows he has to open it.

He rips off the lid, hoping that the band aid approach will make it easier on him. There is a piece of folded paper inside. He has a fleeting moment of hesitation; he could just slip the lid back on, he doesn't need to know what's on that paper. It would be easy to just hide this little box in his book case somewhere and maybe stumble across it in five years' time when he might actually be ready to man up and take a look.

It would be too easy.

Except that he really, really needs to know now.

He can hear his mother singing in the other room and so he takes the piece of paper with him to his bedroom, closing the door behind him, cherishing the silence, the privacy.

He opens the white sheet of paper, expecting a lot of writing for all the fanfare that has gone into giving him the note. It's almost a bit anticlimactic when he sees that there is no friendly banter on the paper, no beating around the bush. There are just four words. But because of those four words, what he sees could never be anticlimactic. He looks down at them again and takes a huge breath, trying to stop the lump from forming in his throat, trying to stop the tears from showing in his eyes. He folds the paper up once more and lets his head fall back against the solid wood of his door.

He's known for a while now that she hadn't been completely honest with him, but to have absolute tangible proof is something else altogether. She has shown her hand and now it's his turn. In four words she has told him her secret; she has opened Pandora's Box, because now it is his turn to reveal his secrets. It's his turn to be honest.

He glances at the paper again, his hands have become clammy and the moisture has smudged her letters. He curses as his eyes find the written words once again, _I love you, too_.

In four words she has told him everything she has been hiding for months. He knows now that she must have heard him, he knows now that things will never be the same again.

And he knows that he is going to have to hurt her now.

The words run through his head over and over. _I love you, too, I love you, too_. And he finds himself wondering if now that she's finally at a place to admit it, she'll be able to feel that way again after he tells her his secret.

Taking a shaky breath, composing himself, he steps out of his bedroom. Martha is still singing the same tune as she cleans and he finds it absurd that so much seems to have happened in the space of a three minute song. He closes the door to his office and spins to face the monitor on his wall, the black screen staring at him from across the room.

Sighing, accepting his fate, he sits down to write her a confession.

It's not easy to convey the amount of sorrow he feels for betraying her while still maintaining the fact that he's not sorry for pushing her out of harm's way. Halfway through his confession, he scrunches up the paper and instead picks up his phone. All he wanted was space, but right now his loneliness is suffocating him and he only wants to have her in front of him to tell her about the lies he has been keeping from her.

Keeping to their short message tradition, he taps out his question, _come over?_

It's funny how in sync they are, even after spending weeks apart. Just ask he hits send, she knocks at his front door.

..:::..


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you all again for your reviews :) Especially to those of you on anonymous, I appreciate every one of your kind words.**

..:::..

Chapter Four

..:::..

He can't help the gasp that escapes him when he opens the door. A dozen cheesy lines about how she's never looked more beautiful cross his mind, but he doesn't vocalise them, instead opting for a safe greeting of, "Hey."

She smiles in relief, obviously not sure whether she is welcome or not, "Hey."

They do an awkward dance at the door before she squeezes past him, the smell of Thai wafting in with her, "You brought lunch?" And suddenly his mother's cleaning makes sense. They must have organised this somehow. He wonders how the women in his life seem to always be one step ahead of him.

She sets the take out containers down on the table, "Hope that's okay?"

"Of course," he answers, finding his legs again and making his way to the kitchen to help her get some plates, "Is it okay that you're not at work?"

She pauses, hand held above a pile of cutlery, "I've, uh, racked up a lot of hours. Gates practically begged me to take the afternoon off."

He smiles, "A lot of tough cases, huh?"

She sighs, putting the spoonful of Pad Thai that she is handling down, "Castle, we don't have to do this."

He shrugs, "Do what?"

"The polite banter. We both know what I said," Her eyes are downcast, as though she's unsure now of what she's put out there.

He sets down his own food and reaches across the distance between them, curving his hand against her cheek, tilting her head up, her eyes meeting his, "Hey, for you to say what you did, we both needed to know what I said." She nods, "It hasn't changed, Kate."

She smiles, resting against his palm, finally letting go of the breath she's been holding all day. Neither one of them sure when exactly it had become the norm for them to engage in all this physical contact, "We should eat."

He shouldn't be surprised really, that she wants to change the subject, to get away from him but still, he drops his hand as though she has scolded him. Turning to the food, he agrees, "Of course."

But she's there to reach out to him, to grab hold of his hand, "Only because it'll go cold. We can speak after."

He squeezes her fingers, grateful for her honesty, "Thank you."

..:::..

She goes to sit on the couch in the living room after their lunch, hoping that he's not in the mood for much more than a movie and maybe a glass of wine. She needs to unwind after a stressful day. It's not as though work was particularly hard today, but she spent the better part of the morning concerned about how Castle would take her note; whether he would simply hate her or embrace the part of her that had lied to him.

She's not disappointed when he takes her by the arm and guides her to the couch in his office instead, but she knows that her afternoon of relaxation is a long lost dream. She watches him, perplexed by his behaviour, but doesn't ask him what he is doing. She knows he has something to show her, she got his text message just as she knocked on his door. He wants her here, for what, she doesn't know, but she's willing to wait to find out.

Once she's settled he closes the door. And locks it.

A heavy feeling attacks her stomach. Not worry, not fear, just an unsettling inkling that she will be angry at him by the end of the day.

Only then does she ask, "What's going on here, Castle?"

He hands her a remote control and sits beside her, she flicks the control away, refusing to play a part in this game when she doesn't know the rules, "What is this?"

Her heart sinks further as she sees the look in his eyes, the soft plea for forgiveness, for something she isn't privy to yet, something guilty. He picks up the small remote again and presents it to her, placing it by her thigh again, "I want you to close your eyes."

"Castle?"

"Please, Kate." He touches her knee, "Close your eyes."

A bolt of electricity shocks through her at his touch and she finds her eyes closing whether she likes it or not. She thanks her body for not betraying her any further.

"Now, I want you to picture the words you wrote to me earlier today."

And she does. She can see the white paper in front of her, blank and begging for something. She can see her black pen gliding across the white, such a contrast and yet, meant to be. She can see her hands form the words she has not yet been able to say out loud.

She nods, holding the image firmly in her mind, "I can see it."

His breath kisses her cheek and she wonders when he got so close to her, not that she minds, she could spend eternity locked like this. His voice rumbling through the air to her, his touch setting her on fire, "Okay, now this is important." His lips touch her cheek and she has to physically hold her breath to stop the whimper escaping, "I need you to feel the way you felt as you wrote it. I need you to love me."

She's shocked that her mouth is already forming the word before she can stop it, "Always." It's breathy, sexy.

"Hold onto that feeling. And when you're ready, flick on the big flat screen on the wall."

She nods and slowly opens her eyes, startled to find Castle sitting across the room from her, having moved swiftly in a few seconds.

Her hands find the remote as she keeps her eyes firmly locked on Castle, suspicion blurring her vision at the edges, causing her focus to hold solely on her partner. She clicks the big red button.

Breathing heavily she lets her eyes glide to the monitor on the wall, afraid of what she will find. The plastic device fall to the ground with a clatter as the screen illuminates, her face in the centre.

..:::..

He's glad Alexis is on a date and he is so grateful that his mother seems to have disappeared after her little cleaning bout this morning. The way Kate is yelling at him is making him feel about two feet tall and he cannot imagine the embarrassment of having to explain why to his family.

It's a steady stream of 'how could you?' with an undercurrent of 'do you know the danger you've put yourself in?' that he is hearing. Her yells are frustrated and bitter and he is glad. Because while she's yelling, she's not running away. She is standing before him, allowing her fears to escape her, allowing their relationship a chance.

"She is my mother, Castle. _Mine!_ And just because you were the one to convince me to take another look at her murder does not mean you get to work solo on it!" She doesn't wait for him to speak, he knows he'd be an idiot to interrupt her, "I'm not mad at you for what you've found. I'm furious for your carelessness. I'm livid that you thought you couldn't trust me enough to at least tell me what was going on." And he sees it, the fury, the rage, "What about Ryan and Espo? They're not me. If you insist on doing this, why couldn't they have helped you?"

He watches her pace back and forth, running her hands through her hair as she moves. Her eyes dart to the door on more than one occasion, but she doesn't run. He would never dream of holding her against her will, but he's definitely glad that he locked the door. At least this way they have the opportunity to resolve some of their issues, and as much as he hates her being mad at him, at least they're talking about this.

"I just don't understand why you feel like this is your battle, why you feel like you have to do this alone." He realises that she's almost muttering to herself, trying to justify his actions in her own head. "What did you think? That you would find my mom's killer and have him in cuffs before I realised what you were doing?" She faces him now, "You're not a cop, Castle. There is no way in hell that you could finish this on your own."

To say that her words are hurtful would be an understatement, but to say that he doesn't deserve them would be a lie. He takes each of her sentences like a punch to the gut, recoiling internally.

She sits once more on his couch, chest heaving with the exertion of her anger. Her shoulders bent forwards, framing her in a look of pure defeat.

Her eyes meet his, her voice softening, allowing the hurt to come across, raw and unbridled. "Do you know what it's like to see someone you love with a gun to their head?" The way the word tumbles from her mouth feels so natural. _Love._ She loves him. But the moment is too intense to realise it's the first time she's said it out loud. "Or what about as we were sinking to the bottom of the Hudson? When you didn't surface…" she presses a hand to her mouth, stifling the cry that wants to escape her, "You've told me again and again about that day at the cemetery, so I know that you know how this feels." Her eyes watch him cautiously, curiously, trying to understand why the pain of losing a partner only seems to apply in his head and not for her. With more conviction in her voice than she really feels able to muster, she finishes her monologue, "I can't lose you, Castle."

He approaches the couch, finally feeling safe enough to sit next to her, "So you understand why I've hidden it from you then?" He takes her hand, he counts it as a small victory that she doesn't pull away, "I can't lose you either."

She squeezes his fingers, and reluctantly looks his way, "Yeah, I understand that much."

And it's a start.

..:::..


	5. Chapter 5

..:::..

Chapter Five

..:::..

"So how often do you hear from this Smith guy?"

They're still sitting in his office; the monitor with all the case notes has long ago gone into sleep mode and they're both grateful for that. The conversation is a lot calmer than in the hours previous and neither one of them can help thinking that maybe it's because there isn't the obvious glare of his own personal murder board leering down at them.

"Kate," he warns. They had only just reached a compromise about what he could share with her and what he had to keep her in the dark about. He knew it would only be a matter of minutes before she tried to extract every last ounce of knowledge about the case from him.

"What? I'm not asking about the case."

His lips press in a thin line, reluctant to share any information that will send her careening into harm's way, "Not very often," he finally answers, giving away as little as possible.

She rolls her eyes at his obvious attempt to remain as vague as possible, "Oh jeez, Castle. Do you really think I'm going to go running into danger knowing what I know now?"

He watches her carefully and answers honestly, "I don't know." She looks hurt, so he clarifies, "I know that you want this case shut more than anything. I know that you would run into danger, guns blazing if it meant your mother's case was finally put to rest."

She leans back, bringing her knees up to her chest, pulling into herself a little, "Do you think people can change, Castle?"

He's confused by the sudden difference of the conversation, but answers, "I think we're constantly changing. It's human nature."

She nods, accepting his answer, "I think we all change too." She pulls her knees even closer to her, her chin resting on their tops, "I think you've changed since I first met you." He lets out a puff of air that almost sounds like a laugh. She catches it, "No, really, Castle. You still pull at my pig tails, which is great, but you've grown up too."

He smiles smugly, "I can't take all the credit. Alexis has some great parenting skills."

She laughs, letting her legs fall away from her a little, opening up, "I've been trying to change too."

"Yeah?" His smile softens, accommodating, once again, for the change in the mood of the room.

"Yeah. I'm getting better."

He ventures a guess, "Knocking down walls?"

And she affirms, "Knocking down walls."

He nods, absorbing this new information. It makes him feel better knowing that she's working everything out, and more than that it makes him feel good that she's being completely honest with him. Knowing this, he says, "I've only heard from Smith a handful of times and I've contacted him twice."

There's a new sort of trust building between them in the absence of her wall. Something that maybe they can dive into together.

..:::..

Alexis opens the front door at 10pm and tries to sneak in quietly, hoping not to disturb anyone in the loft. She's not surprised to see her father's office light on, he often works late into the night when he's writing, she is a little surprised to hear a familiar voice floating through the air though. A very familiar _female_ voice.

She knocks and opens the door, "Hey dad. Hey Kate." She waves timidly, unsure of what she's walked in on.

Castle perks up at seeing his daughter, Beckett finds it adorable, "Hey Pumpkin. We're not being too loud, are we?"

"Not at all. I only just got in." Feeling less like she's walked in on something private, she opens the door wider.

"How was your day with JD?"

The young Castle smiles, "It was perfect, dad. He's so…dreamy."

Kate smiles, knowing only too well the hurt that a break up can cause and how one lovely date can really make it all better, "I should go. Let you two catch up." She stands, stretching her legs from the hours of sitting in the same spot.

Alexis is quick to quell her fears, "Oh, it's okay. I was just going to bed."

She looks across at Rick, who is watching the interaction between herself and his daughter. She doesn't know what to do with the raw emotion she sees there, so she pushes herself further off the couch, standing and walking towards the door, "It's late anyway, I really should be going."

Castle stands, following his partner, brushing a kiss to his daughter's forehead on the way past her walking out of his office, "Well at least let me do the gentlemanly thing and see you out." He doesn't say it any differently to what he normally would, but Beckett can still hear the lingering desperation there, a need to do right by her after revealing that he has been lying to her for the last nine months. It kills her that he's so willing to please her even after she has lied to him as well.

Alexis senses a shift in the room as her father and the Detective lock eyes from across the living room and makes a swift escape upstairs to her bedroom calling out a 'goodnight' from the top of the stairs.

Kate smiles, understanding what it is costing him to just allow her to walk out after everything that had happened during the day, and says, "Sure," wishing she could say something more. They collect her coat on the way, Castle looping it over his arm as they step slowly towards the door, "Castle, I uh…" she pauses, unsure how to say what she needs to.

He rests a hand at her elbow, gently, for comfort, "It's okay, Kate."

But she knows that it's not. "I just want you to know that what you're doing, as careless and as reckless as I think it is, and as much as I'm still mad at you, it's kinda sweet." She takes the hand at her elbow and twines her fingers through his, gently squeezing, "But I know what this case can do to a person. I've been through it and only now am I starting to see how it affected everyone around me." She watches him, making sure he's listening because she really, _really_ needs him to hear this, "I don't want you to lose yourself in it like I did."

"I won't."

She carefully winds a hand behind his neck and forces his gaze upon her, "It's important, Rick. You have too much to lose."

He leans forward, his lips brushing her forehead, warm and soft. Her eyes slip shut as he whispers, "I know."

And she believes him.

..:::..

He's trying to be quiet, he really is, but he stubs his toe as he moves closer to his daughter's bedroom. It's a silly little decorative table that he thinks Meredith may have bought him years ago. At any rate, no matter where it came from it has caused him some pain and he finds himself kicking it again just out of pure frustration.

Alexis appears in her doorway, eyebrows raised, arms crossed, "Everything alright?"

Castle smiles and brushes it off, "Yeah, just being accident prone. Was just coming to say a proper goodnight."

Her smile doesn't reach her eyes and that concerns him, as though she's carrying a heavy burden. "Goodnight dad."

"Goodnight Alexis," he reciprocates.

As she turns to walk back to her bed, she calls over her shoulder, "It's nice to see you upstairs."

He knows she's referring to the awful amount of time he's spent pouring over paperwork in his office for the last few weeks. Listening to the hint of sadness in his daughter's voice, he finally recognises exactly how much he has to lose if this case swallows him whole.

..:::..

**Getting to the core of some issues now. Would love to know your thoughts! Thank you for reading.**


	6. Chapter 6

**This chapter nearly had a classic example of 'when fandoms collide', until the wonderful eitoph pointed it out to me that Castle doesn't take place in a lab. Hehe. So thank you, as always to eitoph for her exceptional work :)**

**Enjoy!**

..:::..

Chapter Six

..:::..

It's amazing, really, how it all escalated.

He reflects on the evening as he sits in the break room, separated from everyone else, and finds that he is unsure about how it all began.

He remembers being lonely at home and figured that seeing as things were better between himself and Beckett that maybe they could have a drink together tonight. He was coming to the precinct to invite the boys as well and the next thing he remembers is a lot of yelling.

The rolling sound of chairs against the floor brings him back to the softening bustle of the bullpen as everyone starts leaving for the night. He's been sitting in the same spot for the last hour, reconstructing events.

He closes his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose, staving off an impending migraine. He thought things had been good. Sure, fantastic wasn't the word he would use to describe his relationship with Beckett at the moment, but it was pleasant enough. They hadn't really spoken about their newly revealed secrets and he had planned on keeping it that way, at least until they were on more stable footing.

However, stable was not where they were heading after tonight. His head throbs, pounding in time with the second hand on the clock in the break room. He glances at the time, seeing that it is past 7:30pm. He stands slowly, peeking through the window over the top of the coffee machine, and sees his partner still hunched over a pile of paper on her desk.

And then he remembers how their argument started.

..:::..

_Two Hours Earlier_

He walks into the bullpen, feeling confident and locating Beckett at her desk immediately, "Hey."

She looks up, startled and he notices the way her arm moves, shifting to cover up some of the paperwork on her desk, "Hey, what are you doing here?" Her voice is shaky and that should have been the first sign.

He tries not to let her abrupt tone get to him; he knows that they're still working on building trust and can expect for her to be suspicious of him for a while yet. "Well, I was thinking we could all go grab a drink and maybe something to eat at the Old Haunt." He tries to peek at what she is hiding, but she has everything covered up pretty well.

She nods, seemingly pleased with the prospect of food, "Sounds good, let me just pack this mess away."

He reaches out, "Here, let me help."

But she swats his hand away, probably a bit more aggressively than she should, "No!"

And it's not quite as loud, not quite as desperate as the plea from weeks ago. It's not the cry that has been haunting his sleep, his every move. No, it's not the same, but it causes him to recoil and look at her, shock written across his face.

She takes the moment of his lost focus as an opportunity to quickly stack the paper from her desk together and turn the pile over, away from his eyes, "Sorry. It's just personal. I can pack it away myself."

He doesn't buy it though, and with her voice still ringing in his head, full of pain, he reaches out and slides the paper from her hands, feeling the resistance in her pull.

She opens her mouth to speak. He hears half an apology on a timid whisper before he flips the paper over in his hands, reading the lines and lines of text. Names like _Raglan_ and _Johanna _jump out at him and he feels the fury well up inside of him. He feels the fire burning into his heart, shattering it to pieces, "What is this?" His voice is trembling, his brow furrowed and he watches her cower a little. He doesn't stand down though, he needs her to answer.

"Files on my mom's case." Her hands are knitted together, her fingers twisted at angles that fingers shouldn't twist.

He realises that she's hurting herself on purpose; she's punishing herself for going directly into harm's way when he's asked her not to. He doesn't stop her.

"Why would you do this, Kate? Huh? Why do you feel the need to hide in this case?" His voice rises and she tries to grab his hand to calm him, bring him back to her. He will have no part in it, swatting her away, "I told you what was going on. I told you about Smith. I thought that if you knew what was at risk you'd stand down. You'd allow me to help you and keep you safe." He tears the pages of paper in half and drops them in a bin, "I thought you said you were trying to get better. Why can't it be enough that I want to help you?" He fires off the questions as they come into his head, not thinking straight, but knowing that his anger has him just wanting to walk away from her.

A hand on his own stops him though. With surprising strength, she tugs Castle to face her, "You don't get to walk away. We're talking this out." And her voice is as strong as her grip.

Ryan and Esposito stand on the edges, watching everything develop, on standby in case things get out of hand. They're all glad that Gates left at 5pm on the dot, because a spectacle like the one unfolding would not fly well in her regulation precinct.

"Oh, you wanna talk about it?" She can already hear the defensive tone in his voice and knows that this is going to end in a crash and a burn. "Alright, let's talk about the fact that you're putting yourself in the direct line of fire only days after I told you why you can't run around doing this anymore."

Her teeth grind together as she lets her emotions spill out to match his, "And you don't understand why that's ironic? You tell me to stop just so you can start it up again. But you don't even include me in the loop this time, you start going at it alone. How is that not dangerous?"

"Smith only said _you_ weren't allowed to investigate your mother's murder, he didn't at any time say anything about me."

She splutters in disbelief, "I think it's implied, Castle. You're in just as much danger as me."

His voice rises again, matching hers, "I'm not. Montgomery did this for years before me and had he not been involved he'd still be doing it. I'm not involved, Kate. I'll be safe."

He can tell that she's losing it at the mention of Montgomery, her tears fall second by second, until finally it isn't a cry that wracks her body, but a completely desperate and sad sob. Had he not been so mad at her, he'd crush her to his chest and never let go. But he is mad, he is _furious_.

Her tear filled eyes turn up to him and she sees Ryan and Esposito disappear to the break room in her peripheral; they're on their own now, the boys won't fight their battle. She takes a deep breath, "In case you missed the memo, Castle, Montgomery is dead! Everyone is dead, and you'll be next."

And then it is silent because this is the same fight they had a year ago. Everyone associated with the case dies and that leaves them with no good place to go.

..:::..

There's nothing much more that either one of them wants to say to the other, there's a kind of shocked stillness to the precinct that wasn't there before. They're the only two left standing, she's behind her desk, he's behind his chair and both of them are breathing heavily, raw emotions hanging in the thickened air between them.

His mouth opens several times in the minutes that pass. He has nothing to say, but his body wants to react in the same way it always does to pain, he wants to talk.

She watches him, wondering why he hasn't fired a retort back at her. And then she sees it. In his eyes, there's a deeper understanding, a knowledge that what he has been doing has been dangerous, but a distinct lack of regard for his own safety. It's reckless, it's wild. She sees that he has been willingly putting himself in danger so that she isn't. Her heart beats hard and fast, it is a completely different thing to be knowingly putting himself in danger for her sake. It breaks her a little and she can see how much she has broken him. She can finally see what he saw in her when she was spiralling.

She hates it.

He shouldn't have those burdens, he shouldn't have to worry. He has a teenage daughter and a writing career. His life isn't about real life murder, it's about what his imagination can create and now he has walked into the line of fire to take the target off her back, effectively placing it squarely on his own shoulders.

"Castle, you need to leave now."

The look on his face almost allows her to beg him to disregard what she just said. His eyes are shocked, him mouth slack and forlorn, giving him the overall appearance of a lost child. But she holds firm and stares him down.

He doesn't budge easily though, "I'll wait in the break room til you finish. We'll go get a drink."

"Castle," she warns, "Go home."

He nods, but still walks towards the break room.

She shakes her head. This man would go to the end of the world for her and she's only just starting to realise what that means.

..:::..

He stands up again to see if Beckett is still in her seat and isn't surprised to find that she's missing. He hoped that she wouldn't run away, but knew that she would.

He closes the break room door behind him as he leaves, switching off the light. In the silence of the empty bullpen he can hear the elevator ding on the bottom level of the precinct and knows that it's her hopping off and getting ready for the drive home.

She is tantalisingly close, but he doesn't chase her. Not tonight.

..:::..

**Would always love to know what you thought :) Thank you for reading.**


	7. Chapter 7

**So, there was a bit of a glitch with last chapter and I know alerts weren't sent out to a lot of people, so if you feel like you've missed something crucial before this chapter, it's because you missed Chapter 6 :) Just a heads up. Hopefully all runs smoothly for this chapter :)**

**Thanks to eitoph :) I cannot stress enough how wonderful she is at helping my words make sense. **

**Enjoy. **

..:::..

Chapter Seven

..:::..

The morning brings a different feel to it. It's sunny and warm and it smells like spring. She rolls over in her bed, pushing the sheets from her and revelling in the sunshine pouring through her bedroom window. In a moment like this it's easy to forget the worries that have been weighing on her mind all night, to forget the pain she has felt and the pain she is sure she has inflicted.

However, as she thinks it, Castle's face drifts through her mind again. She tries to shut it out and enjoy this one small minute of bliss in the morning, but his eyes are insistent, even in her imagination, and in two seconds she is out of bed, pulling the sheets from her mattress, intent on keeping busy on her day off to avoid thinking about her partner and the mess they've tangled themselves in.

By the time 11am rolls around, she has washed and dried her sheets, cleaned her bathroom and vacuumed her entire apartment. She smiles as she looks around at her living room, all but one of her windows are open, letting in a soft breeze. Her eyes linger on that one window, the shutters still closed, and she thinks of Castle.

She knows that he's only trying to help, but he's being so goddamn stupid about it. She feels absolute fury towards him for his naivety, but more than that she feels completely worn down by his utter and profound need to protect her. She doesn't know what to do with that, it catches her off guard every time it crosses her mind.

He loves her so much that he's willing to put himself in her shoes for a while and lose himself in a case that has taken her over a decade to start to climb out of. He's willing to risk everything for her. And that scares her in a way that makes her feel tingly inside.

It has to stop.

With a striking determination, she walks up to that one closed window and opens it. The sun filters through the photos and news clippings, casting a rectangle of yellow light amongst all the other white rectangles mingling in her apartment.

Castle is carrying her burdens and she thinks that maybe the way to fix that is to show him that she has no burdens to carry anymore.

Her hand is steady as she reaches for the top corner of her murder board, untacking a photo of her mother, Johanna Beckett smiling up at her from the square of yellowed paper in a way that doesn't hint at the horror that will befall her life in the coming years. Beckett wipes a tear away before it can make the journey down her cheek. It's in vain though, because the tears are just going to keep coming. But she doesn't mind; it's cleansing, it feels right.

Placing that one photo on the windowsill, she reaches for another, her wall inside crumbling down.

..:::..

It's been a quiet morning. Not that he can really distinguish between last night and this morning. With only two hours of sleep it's just rolled into one continuous day. He swivels in his desk chair, turning from his laptop to the monitor on the wall behind him.

The remote to switch the screen on is on the desk, just out of his reach. He doesn't make any move to retrieve it, almost scared to let the screen light up and let the evidence of his betrayal shine in the room.

A knock at his door distracts him and he almost forgets what he's supposed to say before calling out, "Come in."

Alexis pokes her head around the door, "Hey dad."

He smiles. Seeing his daughter always makes things feel better, even when they aren't, "Hey."

She closes the door behind her and sits herself down in the big couch by the wall. She looks so small against her surroundings, but when she speaks he is the one that feels small, "Wallowing in self-pity won't solve your problems, no matter what they are." She says it in such a matter of fact manner, as though she can see right through him.

He doesn't answer her, just quirks an eyebrow at her obvious perceptiveness.

Alexis isn't here to reprimand her father though, "Do you love her, dad?" She already knows the answer, but she needs to be sure.

He nods, "Yeah, Pumpkin. I do."

She absorbs that and sits forward a little, "I don't know exactly what's going on between you two. I mean one second you're pretty much in each other's laps hidden away in your office and the next you're shooting each other looks of longing from opposite sides of the room," she shakes her head, obviously getting side tracked. "I just want you to know that if I'm the reason you're holding back, I shouldn't be."

"Oh Alexis," he begins, but is cut off by his daughter rambling more and more.

"Because I know that over the summer I was pretty bitter towards the whole situation, but seeing the environment you work in and working there myself has brought me to a new understanding."

"I'm glad to hear it, Sweetie, but you aren't…"

"Lanie has shown me that these bad things happen to people on the street all the time, which means you're at the same risk as everyone else and you wouldn't put yourself in danger on purpose or anything, so I should really stop worrying." She takes a deep breath, collecting her thoughts so as to get her next point across clearly, "And you and Detective Beckett should stop finding excuses to be apart. You _love_ her for goodness sake."

He will never know where it came from, but he is positively glad that his daughter got the trait of level headedness from somewhere. It sort of stabs at his heart that his daughter has complete blind faith in him to keep himself out of danger while he is still pursuing this, the most dangerous case he's ever been involved in. He doesn't want to lie any more. But he can't just walk away. It's got him feeling conflicted on a level that he knows Beckett understands. But just because he understands it does not mean he can condone her behaviour.

Yes, he loves her, but damn he is mad at her too.

"Believe me, our problems are not about you, Alexis." He adds a smile to his sentence to reassure his daughter.

Alexis chews her lip, "Okay. But really dad, you need to work out what's going on between the two of you."

He nods, being told by his daughter is somehow more grounding than thinking it himself, "I know."

..:::..

It's dark when he wakes up. He remembers closing his eyes as he sat in his office, but he doesn't remember the exact moment his mind finally relinquished its hold on the thoughts that had been plaguing him since the morning and let him fall into a soft slumber. A quick glance at his clock tells him it's only 7pm and the rumble in his stomach tells him he needs some dinner.

Before heading out to the kitchen, he turns his attention to the thing that woke him up in the first place. His phone is flashing with one new message which he promptly opens upon seeing that it is from Beckett.

_There's a window in my wall and I'm finally beginning to see through it._

He scrolls a little further, confused by her text and sees a picture. Clicking to enlarge, the whole story begins to makes sense. He recognises the window in her apartment, but there is something completely different about this window. While he recognises it as the window that serves as her murder board, there are no longer any photos adorning it, nor any reports or newspaper clippings.

The window is just a window.

But he knows it is so much more. He scrolls back up to the text; it's a window in her wall.

He types out a quick reply before standing, stretching and walking towards the kitchen. _Will you let me help open that window?_

He barely makes it to the office door when his phone buzzes. He can't help the welling of anticipation in his gut as he takes a couple of backwards steps and picks up his phone again.

_Of course._

..:::..

**Okay, I know. I'm mean leaving it here, but I promise it'll be worth the wait :) Let me know what you think! **


	8. Chapter 8

..:::..

Chapter Eight

..:::..

She grins when she walks into work the next morning. Castle is sitting in his seat by her desk and Ryan and Esposito are crowded around him complaining about why they don't get a morning coffee. She sidles up to the boys and plucks her vanilla latte from Castle's grip with a practiced ease, "It's clearly because we're better partners than you two." She toasts her coffee with Castle's and takes a sip, cherishing the feeling of the happy moment. She already feels lighter.

Castle smiles at her as he also takes a sip, "Besides, Ryan don't you prefer honey milk?"

Beckett, Castle and Esposito share a chuckle as Ryan grumbles about thinking they were all past this and mopes back to his desk. Esposito follows, slapping his partner on the back and offering to get him a coffee from the break room.

Castle turns his attention back to Beckett; there is something different about her today, something he doesn't ever want to take his eyes off, "I think they'll be okay."

She smiles, "Yeah, me too."

And they drink their coffees knowing that their words hold that little extra meaning this morning.

..:::..

It's not like she meant to be without Rick when she made her way down to the morgue to check on the autopsy of their current victim, but he had wanted to tag along with the boys that afternoon (something about the scene of the murder being a strip club), so she was completely available for a little catch up with her best friend over a corpse.

"So, Javi said there was a little bit of a throwdown a couple of nights ago?"

Beckett immediately shudders at the thought of their fight; it seems like another lifetime when they had yelled at each other in the bullpen, "There was."

Lanie tilts her head, waiting, "Oh geez, Beckett, throw all the details at me at once," she fires off in sarcasm, while still managing to perfectly extricate an intact bullet from their victim, "We got what looks like a nine mil."

Beckett holds out a metal tray for Lanie to drop the bullet in, "Is that cause of death?"

Lanie nods, beginning the Y incision.

And then they're back to their personal conversation, the shift is seamless, "There's not a lot to tell. We fought, we made up."

"What kind of made up? The good kind?" She raises her eyebrows at her friend.

From behind them, Alexis steps into the room to collect the bullet and clean it, "I can assure you, Lanie, that Detective Beckett hasn't been in our house since the fight." Lanie's face drops at the solid evidence against her argument. However, Alexis isn't finished and it's the next sentence that brings a smile back to the ME's face, "_But_ my dad was exceptionally happy last night at dinner _and_ he stayed out of his office all night which was a nice change of pace. So I'm with Lanie here, what's happened?"

Beckett averts her eyes from the scrutiny of both other females in the room. Lanie's interrogations are one thing, but having Alexis there as well is almost too much, "We're working through things." She's not sure how much to reveal in front of Alexis. She knows that Castle probably has some way he wants to break the news to the teen, but she can't not give Lanie _something_, so she settles in between.

Lanie and Alexis share a look, rolling their eyes. Beckett has to wonder how much time the two really have been spending together, "Alright, I'll let it go for now. But I want details when you two _finally_ work it out."

At that Alexis looks shocked, "Ew, I mean, no offence," she flashes Beckett a look of apology, "But he's my dad and I won't be present for that conversation."

Beckett laughs, the tension leaving the room now that Lanie has stopped questioning her. With the focus off her she can see another point of conversation that has been untouched for too long, "So…he's Javi again, huh?"

Lanie's eyes widen, but she recovers fast, "Yeah, we're working on things too." She winks and the three ladies share a laugh.

..:::..

"So where did you put it all?"

Beckett places her wine down, studying Castle's face for an extra hint as to what 'it' is.

They're sitting at the Old Haunt, a booth to themselves and a plate of fries between them as they sip on wine that would be better suited to an exquisite five-star French meal. After her talk with Lanie and Alexis that afternoon she had this unruly desire to spend more time with her partner, and when he had suggested a drink, she was more than happy to go along with him.

"Put what, Castle?"

It feels like nothing has changed, except that everything has.

He chews on a fry, "All the stuff from the window." He says it noncommittally, as though he's not bursting at the seams to know but merely curious. She sees right through his façade and decides to toy with him a little.

"I'm not telling."

His jaw actually drops and she takes great pleasure from that, "What?" His voice seems to have risen a few octaves, "Aren't we trying to create an open environment for our relationship to flourish in?" She swears that her heart skips a beat at the mention of a relationship and he must realise what he's said because he quickly elaborates, "I mean our partnership. That kind of relationship. Not the…"

She cuts him off, taking his hand, "We're a little old for justifications, aren't we?"

He sighs and she sees the tension leave his face for the first time in a long time, "Yeah," and then his boyish grin returns, "And aren't we a little old for hiding information from one another just for fun?"

She squeezes his hand and lets go, popping another fry in her mouth and washing it down with their expensive wine, "It's away, Castle. In my apartment, in a cupboard. Away, but not out of reach."

He worries about the look in her eye, "You can't keep looking into it, Kate. It's too dangerous."

She shakes her head, "We've had this fight enough. I'm keeping it close because as much as I need to let it go, it's still a part of me. My mother deserves justice and if somehow one day it becomes safe for me to open that file again, I will."

"But you won't open it for now, right?"

She really does love his concern for her, "No." However, her concern for him is something she's still getting used to, "And what about your board?" The question has left her mouth before she's had a chance to evaluate whether it's going to eventuate in another argument for them or not.

His expression hardens somewhat, "It's not like I can pack a monitor in a cupboard, Beckett."

And it's the 'Beckett' that hurts her the most. It's mostly 'Kate' now, sometimes when he's teasing he'll call her 'Detective', but 'Beckett' means business. He's mad at her.

"I just meant…"

He runs a hand over his face and then grabs her hand, "No, you don't have to explain. I just wish this was all simpler." He leans closer, "I love you." And it's the first time since she was shot that he's said it so clearly, "But I want to keep you safe. I'm not sure those things can occur simultaneously."

Her eyes slide shut at his words, this whole ordeal has been an exercise in walking in each other's shoes and right now she can see the pain she must have put him through in the past year when he was trying to convince her to take time away from the case. For that she is truly sorry.

With her eyes closed she allows herself to concentrate on the way his fingers move over her hand, swirling in a nonsensical pattern, "Can't we just do this together? Can't we just step away from it all and let it happen naturally? We'll take the backseat for a little while; wait until something comes up in the system, until the case comes to us. And we can react then." She feels his hands stop moving over hers, "I'm finally ready to let this go a little. I'm ready to live my life."

He shifts in his seat and pulls her hand to his lips, letting a breath of warm air pass over her knuckles before connecting with her skin. Her eyes pop open at the contact and she finds his eyes staring intensely at her. He doesn't speak, so she asks the question she most fears the answer to, "You're still angry at me, though, aren't you?"

He only moves her hand a fraction of an inch, so she can still feel his breath warming the back of her palm, sending fits of tingles through her every fibre as he speaks, "Not so much angry as scared for your life." He brushes his lips to her knuckles once more, "But I think I've got to realise that no matter how I feel, if you were to die tomorrow, I would be a complete mess. And that's what I have to hold onto."

She smiles, "Hard to believe that our relationship comes down to what essentially is an old saying."

He smiles too, "We really do need to live each moment like it's our last."

They share a look for a moment and she can honestly say that she is feeling happier than she has in months. Then, delicately, she removes her hand from Castle's hold, ignoring the look of loss on his face, "And speaking of living life to the full, are you ever going to tell me about the strip club, or am I going to have to beat it out of you?"

He chuckles, "You've got nothing to worry about, Detective."

..:::..

**To clear things up, I wrote the strip club part in before A Dance with Death aired. I considered taking it out to avoid confusion, but you're all smart human beings; this fic is still set post Linchpin and only uses references to canon up to that point :) **

**You are all overwhelmingly amazing! Please keep the comments coming, they help me shape the story so that you all keep enjoying it :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**So, how did everybody feel about 47 Seconds? **

**Can't believe how well it fits with the grain of this story. Don't forget, everyone, it might all be gone tomorrow, so make sure you have no regrets.**

**Enjoy. And keep the feedback coming :)**

..:::..

Chapter Nine

..:::..

He should have learned a long time ago that nothing gets past Martha Rogers. Plus sneaking into his own place is kind of sad for a man of his age. But something about the lingering taste of expensive wine on his tongue and the positively gleeful mood that his partner has left him in has him trying not to let the front door creak at 11:30pm while he sneaks in through the doorway as quietly as possible.

"Hot date?"

His face drops at the sound of his mother's questioning tone and he pushes the door open in one move, losing all sense of stealth.

"I was with Beckett." He lets the door close behind him, "What are you doing up so late?" His mother is sitting on the couch, ribbons of fabric and cotton all around her, as well as an inordinate amount of sequins.

Martha bypasses his question in favour of her son's love life, "Alexis tells me that you and Kate are 'working things out'." There's a familiarity in the way she says 'Kate' that makes him excited. His mother has always been vocal in her dislike for his previous lovers, but Kate she loves. And the fact that his mother loves her makes him love her even more.

She doesn't phrase it as a question, but she _is_ Martha Rogers, so she really doesn't have to. Castle moves a pile of tulle and satin to the coffee table before flopping onto the couch, sighing, "Alexis tells you, does she?"

Martha just nods, quirking an eyebrow at her son, "It's about time, kiddo."

Castle smiles, "We haven't done anything, Mother." And he suddenly feels 17 again, explaining why Samantha Duncan's t-shirt is half way across his bedroom, while she is sitting on his bed. He shakes his head, "Not that it concerns you." And after a beat, he tries to deflect the attention again, "What exactly are you doing here?" He asks, holding up a section of beaded satin.

His mother shoots him a knowing look to sum up their conversation about Beckett, because even without a sound, Martha always gets the last word, and then she proceeds to tell him, "I've decided that my students need a sense of familiarity and comfort radiating from within my acting school. So I'm fashioning some uniforms, to bring us all together."

Castle picks up the bold pink material with orange and purple beading and re-examines it in the context of a 'uniform'. He shakes his head; only his mother.

..:::..

It's different this time.

The air surrounding them is crisp, cool. A breeze is rustling through the trees, sending leaves tumbling to the ground.

They're outside.

The sun is beating down on them, trying to break through the icy air that surrounds their private universe.

The grass is green.

They're alone.

And he is holding her impossibly close. Their mouths are familiar and solid, kisses pouring from one soul to the other, liquid between them, soft and sure.

His hands run through her hair, but it's wet this time, wet with the dew from the grass.

There are moans; from him and from her. But they're different.

The whole situation is so different.

Her hands fumble as they reach for his shirt, trying to pull it and push it and just rip it. He doesn't care. He knows this is a dream.

He _knows_ this is a dream.

But it doesn't stop him searching for something. He hears the tear as his buttons go flying into the freshly mowed lawn, his heart pounding against her lips as she kisses his chest. The need is primal between them, but he knows that he needs to keep a look out. He doesn't know what's coming, but his gut tells him it's bad…

He rolls them over as she rises above him, reaching for the hem of her shirt. And he is distracted for a second, distracted by the sliver of smooth skin he can see at her waist, distracted by the feel of their bodies colliding so intimately again and again a soft barrier of material lingering between them as she tries to divest them of all clothing.

There is a glint in the sun and a muffled shot fired. He screams, but she is louder, more insistent, more pain filled than his cry will ever be, "NO!"

He sits up, wide eyed in his bed, shaking with terror.

His phone is in his hand before he knows what he's doing and he has dialled her number before his breath has evened out.

"Castle?" She sounds groggy with sleep, but a jolt of familiarity hits her as she remembers how he had behaved last time he had called this late and she speaks quickly, "Don't you dare hang up on me this time or I will kill you." She doesn't care that it seems irrationally angry, they've finally broken down parts of a wall that belongs to both of them and she sees no sense in going backwards.

He takes a moment to remember, but once he does he is intensely sorry. The last time he did this he had been frightened of everything that the phone call had meant, this time he relishes in what the phone call means.

"I'm coming over. I need to see you."

She's halfway through telling him that it's nearly 3am when she realises he has already hung up on her.

She frowns in confusion at her phone, seeing the screen fade to black and confirming that the call had really just happened. As she pulls her covers off her and pads her way to the kitchen, she can't help but think that this had all better be worth his death.

..:::..

She's already brewed the coffee by the time he knocks on her front door. She figures that anything that warrants him coming over so late (early?) is going to take some time to resolve, so she wants them to be somewhat awake.

She is not changing out of her pyjamas though, and that is just something he is going to have to deal with.

His knock is more insistent the second time and she rolls her eyes at his impatience, opening the door and handing him a coffee without a word. She collects hers from the kitchen and joins him again in her living room.

"Wanna sit?"

He nods, holding his coffee like a lifeline, "Yeah." And she hears the croakiness of his voice.

They don't even try to keep a distance as they take a seat. His knee is bent up, brushing her bare thigh, her legs on full show as she wears only a pair of pyjama shorts and a t-shirt; she reaches over, resting a hand on his knee, warmth radiating between them.

He looks tortured and that worries her. He's supposed to be the strong one. And she is struck once again by the absurdity of their situation. When did it all get so mixed up? When did her problems become his problems?

"You okay?" She knows he isn't.

His haunted eyes watch her for a moment, "I keep having bad dreams." He doesn't elaborate and he doesn't have to, she knows how he feels. For a long time after her mother's death she had nightmares about the faceless men who had ripped her family apart with one fatal stab. As the years have gone on, the nightmares never ceased, but only changed to include the face of the man who had killed her mother and slowly, gradually another person was introduced to the nightmares, a man she feared would be torn away from her.

She has never feared for her own life so much because of how it would hurt another person. She has never had that feeling of responsibility, of caring so much about a person that she would give up everything that is worth fighting for just so that another person doesn't have to worry.

Well, not until Castle, at least. And she knows, without really knowing, that he feels the same about her. His dreams would be filled with images of his own death and her pain. She doesn't need him to tell her that, she can see the hurt written all over him.

She runs her hand across his knee, smoothing over his soft sweatpants in comfort, "I'm here, Castle. I'm right here."

He grasps her hand, needing to feel her, to know without a doubt that she is right there with him. It's a move of desperation, needing to know that she is solid beneath his fingertips, that she won't be taken away from him in a moment by a gunshot, or that he will be taken away from her. Because as much pain as it would cause him to lose her, as much heartache and loneliness would come from her death, he can't imagine a worse pain than having that inflicted on somebody he loves.

And so he holds fast to her.

She just watches him watch their hands, the way his are tracing across hers and the way hers react; it's almost a dance. She doesn't feel it when his eyes shift, doesn't know exactly when the mood in her apartment got quite so charged, but she does feel his breath on her cheek as he leans over. She feels his lips follow the warm path left in the wake. She feels him take their coffees and move them out of the way. Where? She doesn't care, not when his now heated hands roam around her waist, across her back and hold her to him so tightly.

His lips at her ear, he whispers, "I don't want to look at you through a window anymore," she shivers as a rush of warmth takes her over. His lips dip to her neck and then they're back at her ear, tracing the outside, making her forget everything but the feel of him, the heavy comfort she has found in his embrace, "So I'm climbing through."

And then his lips are on hers. He can feel the smoothness of her skin and taste the sweet and savoury all at once; the scent of coffee and Beckett invading his senses.

But what he feels most is that she doesn't kiss him back.

..:::..


	10. Chapter 10

**To every single one of you who has read and reviewed and alerted and favourited, you are all wonderful and thank you! This is the end of the journey for this fic and you have all been so lovely in helping me get here. **

**It's a huge deal that I have finished this and that I have maintained a steady update schedule. I couldn't have done it without my amazing beta, eitoph, who has been nothing but helpful and encouraging every step of the way. Thank you! This last one is for you. **

**Enjoy :)**

..:::..

Chapter Ten

..:::..

_But what he feels most is that she doesn't kiss him back._

Apologies are already falling from his lips before he has completely untangled himself from her, "I shouldn't have done that. You're not ready. I'm so sorry."

She wonders if he even hears himself right now. If he could only hear the way he doesn't sound a thing like himself. He doesn't sound like the Richard Castle that she loves, he sounds like a broken record and she wants to fix it.

His angle makes it difficult, as he is already lumbering to his feet and away from her, but she manages to grab hold of him by his t-shirt and tug just enough that he lands back on the couch. She takes in his confused expression for one moment before she becomes the instigator of their second kiss that night.

And _oh_, this should have been their first kiss.

Their lips meld together as he tastes her slowly, taking his time getting to know her on this new level of intimacy. She moans into his mouth, sending vibrations of pleasure rippling through him, her hands run into his hair, pulling him forwards, impossibly deeper into their lock. It's a testament to the want and need in the room that as they break apart their bodies remain wound tightly together, clinging to every part of the other that they can.

"What-"

She cuts him off, chest heaving, trying to draw breath after their long embrace, "You gotta give me some time to react."

He lets out a laugh, bowing his head in embarrassment, "I thought…"

"I know what you thought. I was just shocked is all."

She pulls him up to her again, kissing him softly, tenderly, enjoying the warmth of his lips under hers.

He pulls away just long enough to say, "Don't stop," and see her eyes widen at the prospect, as though she wasn't even close to considering it, then he pulls her back into him, never wanting to let go.

..:::..

It's dark in her bedroom, but that only heightens their sense of touch as they lay naked and tangled in her sheets, their heart rates returning to resting, shivers running through them in the newness of it all.

"We are doing that again soon."

She chuckles as she runs her hands across his chest, hooking a leg over one of his, "Whenever you're ready."

And it strikes him that maybe he was never waiting on her to be ready for this. Maybe they were waiting on each other. The wall wasn't surrounding her alone; it was separating them from each other.

He grins as he rolls over, hovering above her as he brings his lips down to touch hers lightly.

And from the bedside table they hear the unwanted yet tell-tale ringtone of her phone. He hears a distinct groan as she rolls out from under him, taking the sheets with her, and takes some pleasure from the fact that she's annoyed just as much as he is.

He hears her conclude her phone call and quickly surmises that they're needed at a murder scene right away.

She's already walking to the bathroom to get ready for the day and he finds that it's an unsettling feeling seeing her walk into the shower without a backward glance, almost as though she's already forgotten that he's in her bed. He runs a hand over his face, feeling suddenly very vulnerable with nothing to cover his nudity. He should have known that it was never going to be simple with her; they couldn't just go from the extremes of fighting to making love without some residual problems making their way to the surface.

It was never going to just be easy.

He just has to remember that.

He groans as he rolls off the bed, trying to locate his pants. The sun is starting to peek over the horizon and he thinks maybe he can get some coffees ready for them to win back the brownie points that he's not quite sure if he's lost.

Then from behind him, he hears the sweetest words to come out of her mouth, "You joining me?"

He turns around, watching as her naked, wet form beckons to him.

Well, maybe it will a little easier than he hoped.

..:::..

Alexis is shooing Martha out of the kitchen when he first steps through the door that evening. He catches a lingering burnt smell in the air and knows that his mother has been interfering with dinner.

"What's going on?" He asks as he tucks his jacket in the closet by the door, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt.

The eyes of the two females shoot to him as though just noticing that someone has come through the door, "Nothing," Alexis recovers first, "Gram just needs to relax; she was up late last night making uniforms." As his mother faces him, he spies Alexis over her shoulder mouthing the rest of the story to him. Apparently Martha has lost the ability to stir gravy consistently.

Martha waves a hand through the air, "Oh I'm quite alright. Besides, I'm not the only one who was up late." She clasps her hands in front of her, leaning her elbows on the breakfast bar in the kitchen, asking questions without asking as she always does.

Alexis has stopped moving in the kitchen and he knows they're both eagerly anticipating what he's going to say next. Good or bad, he will always have these women in his life and at that moment he feels entirely too lucky.

"Yes, I was with Kate."

Alexis smiles, "Working things out, right?"

In a move that would knock the theatricality boots off Martha, Kate finds that to be the most opportune moment to step through the doorway, having been caught behind Castle in traffic on the way over. She answers for her partner as she opens the door, "Yeah, Alexis. Working things out."

She winks and Alexis' eyes widen, "Oh. _Oh!_"

Beckett laughs and Castle can't decide whether to feel proud or embarrassed. As Martha rushes to the kitchen to stir the gravy that Alexis has now abandoned in her attempt to clear mental images from her head, he thinks it might be a mixture of both that he's searching for.

He kisses his partner hello, even though he saw her only half an hour earlier at the precinct, and smiles as his life happens around him.

..:::..

He takes her by the hand after dinner and they enter his office. The room hasn't changed a bit, but she feels as though maybe the both of them have changed since last being in it. It feels bigger somehow, less suffocating.

"Have a seat."

She feels nervous, but not in the way that she thinks something bad is coming, she just feels nerves at the unknown of it all, "You sitting too?" She asks as she finds her way to his couch. She's trying to get a feel for the situation. If he's far away he's probably got bad news.

"Yeah." He picks up the small black remote that brought about such a big fight last time and comes to sit next to her.

She braces herself as he flicks the screen on, but lets out a sigh of relief as a photo of the two of them comes up on screen. It's followed by a photo of Alexis and Castle and soon after there's a photo of Esposito feeding the birds with Ryan, "A slideshow?"

He smiles, "Yeah. Thought it might be nice to surround myself with good memories. So when I look over my shoulder I have friendly faces looking back."

He's so poetic sometimes and it makes her grin, "So, where did you put it all?"

It doesn't take him a question to know what she means and his eyes remain glued to the screen as he answers, "It's away. But not out of reach."

She nods, accepting his answer. There will be a time when this is easier, she knows it. There'll be a time when the scar tissue is healed and it doesn't hurt as much anymore. But for now, all they can do is accept that the other has stopped looking, that they've put themselves out of danger. She reaches out and touches his cheek, turning his blue eyes towards her, "Thank you."

And she kisses him.

She's ashamed to admit that the first thing she notices as they fall onto his mess of pillows and sheets is how big the bed is. It's huge. Like she could lie right across the middle and be reaching to touch the edges. When she looks back on that moment in a few months' time she'll find it as the moment her wall came crumbling down. Because lying across his giant bed is the first time she admits in her mind that she could see herself waking up next to Castle in this bed for the rest of her life.

It knocks the wind out of her, but she knows it's true.

The thoughts of his bed are quickly erased as he hovers over her, intensity in his gaze. He reaches down to kiss her, tracing a hand through her hair, pulling her up from the mattress and into him.

"I love you." Their voices meld to one as they both whisper the sentiment.

They're both excruciatingly tired, but they know they won't sleep tonight. The nightmares that plague them will not be present on their first night together, they're both adamant of that. And as they fall into a steady rhythm of passion her soft moans of "Yes, yes, _yes_," finally drown out the screams of "NO!" in his head.

And they relish in their beautiful life.

..:::..


End file.
